


knot

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hank's not the only alpha in Connor's life.
Relationships: Connor/Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 127
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hhhh

Connor’s a needy little fuck and always has been, but Hank likes to pretend that he has a life outside of his omega. The fact that much of this ‘life’ neatly overlaps his work life is… not as concerning to him as it should be. The fact that Connor also _works_ with him feels like some kind of cosmic joke, but the sort that he’ll happily laugh along to for once. 

He shifts his ass on his seat and contemplates the growing pile of paperwork he has to sift through. Some of it’s Connor’s, because he’s on medical leave and essentially incapacitated for half the week. The rest is Hank’s. 

He scrubs a hand through his hair, forgetting it’s in a small ponytail, and groans. He’ll fix it later.

(Reed snickers about his ‘sex hair’ halfway through the day and Hank frowns at the fact that it took the man approximately four hours to think of the joke. He ignores it – he’s actually getting some. And with Connor the way he is… probably even more than Reed can dare to dream of.)

He is immediately reminded of this when he gets home, feeling more worn out than he probably should after a day of sitting around. Connor obviously hasn’t opened any windows like Hank had reminded him to, and the overwhelming scent has him feeling a little weak at the knees. He sighs. 

At least let him step inside first – 

With the door closed and his keys tossed to one side, Hank feels like he’s suffocating. And Connor isn’t even in sight. Because of this, he holds back the urge to passionately tear off all his clothes and wobble across the living room to the awaiting omega in their bedroom. He manages a haphazard trek to the closed door. He feels sweat starting to bead on his forehead, and kicks the door open without hesitation.

The sight that greets him is… unexpected. 

In retrospect, Hank should’ve probably picked up on what was happening in the other room, but his heartbeat had been thundering in his ears ever since he got back home. The blood in his body is now thundering – _elsewhere_.

Connor is bent over the bed, as he usually is, but he’s almost entirely blocked from view by Hank’s beast of a dog. Well, _their_ dog, really. Connor’s dog now, it seems. Hank’s gaze drifts down to the two twitching pale lengths of Connor’s legs, before snapping back up to the downright _violent_ way Sumo is humping his omega. Connor wails, because he can never seem to keep his mouth shut, especially when Hank is around. Hank ignores him.

He walks closer to the bed, entranced for a moment by the rhythmic slapping sounds of Sumo forcing Connor further against the mattress.

“Are you seriously fucking my dog right now.” It’s not a question.

He sees Connor jolt, and the kid twists under Sumo to try and look at where Hank is standing at the foot of the bed. It doesn’t really work, and Hank moves closer with a sigh. Connor beams up at him, looking ever the angel even with an entire dog dick in his ass.

“Ah – maybe?”

Hank adjusts the growing erection in his pants and crosses his arms. “Couldn’t wait for your alpha to get home?” 

It takes a second for Connor to answer. His eyes roll back in his head from one forceful thrust, and Hank, mesmerised despite the irritated act he’s putting on, traces the line of drool that slides down the curve of Connor’s chin. “Hah – you can go next?”

“I damn well better be. Unless you’re thinking of pulling a second dog out of somewhere.”

“I’m not!” It comes out as an exclamation as Connor jolts again, and Hank is getting _really_ hard. And really impatient. “Promise.” Connor smiles at him, and Hank remembers why he’s dedicated so much of himself to this omega. And why he’s prepared to do _anything_ for him. Even if it’s waiting for him to get Sumo’s knot out of his ass. Speaking of…

“He not knotted you yet?”

Connor shakes his head wildly, eyes glazed with heat.

“Then maybe you should let me take over, huh?” He’s fully palming his dick now, hungry with the way Connor’s distracted gaze still manages to find its way to his crotch.

“No! Then Sumo will be upset.”

Sumo looks like he’s having the time of his life, Hank thinks. Is this going to be his future, having to fight his damn dog for his omega? 

“ _I’m_ getting pretty upset here too, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Ah!” The anxious look that spreads across Connor’s pretty face stokes something in him. “Wait, ah, give me five minutes.”

Hank scoffs.

Connor twists to look at Sumo above him, still with that fretful look on his face, and he must do _something_ , because Sumo growls. Hank’s never heard the big softie growl in his life. Connor is shaking from the force of the thrusts, and when he collapses, Sumo goes with him, paws on the bed and belly heavy against his back. He hears Connor whine.

It takes a few more minutes after that for Sumo to knot, though Hank’s not counting, and he can’t help but step closer, one hand on Sumo’s big furry flank, to peer at the way Connor’s pale ass is trembling between Sumo’s hind legs. He reaches out to feel for the place of their union, wet with Connor’s slick, and smiles when Connor yelps.

“Come on, I know you can get this knot out of you.”

Connor makes a tortured sound against the duvet, which Hank takes as a cue to slide his fingers into his hole, working them alongside Sumo’s knot until he’s stretched enough that the dog can slide free. They’ve done it themselves, once or twice, when Connor was _so_ eager to get off Hank’s dick that he’d almost taken offence. The noises he makes though, when he’s stretched to the size of a fist and beyond –

“C’mon, boy.” Hank pumps his fingers some more; adds a fourth. Connor shrieks. 

His fingers are damp with slick and dog come, and Hank grimaces as he watches a mixture of it come trickling out under his fingers. He’s still going to happily stick his dick in there, so he really shouldn’t complain. Connor’s walls flutter weakly around him as he pulls his fingers out, finally loose enough. 

Sumo comes away easily enough with a slap to the flank, and Hank hastily shoos him off the bed, eager to take his place. It only takes him another second’s pause, to tug the great beast outside and _lock_ the bedroom door, before Hank is finally sliding home. 

Connor groans weakly, looking absolutely wrecked, and takes it without complaint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for the kudos and bookmarks! this will probably just be a two-parter, but ill see if inspiration strikes

They never do sit down and talk about it that night, and Connor wakes up the next morning as chipper as always while Hank nurses another crick in his back – he wants to say from the sex, but at his age, any- and everything is ready to fuck up his spine. He rubs at his lower back and yawns.

Connor greets him with the usual morning kiss, before stumbling out to the lounge to greet Sumo with _his_ morning pets and kisses. Hank tries not to linger on it, though he does curl a possessive arm around Connor’s waist when the man walks over to lean against the counter next to him and wait for the coffee to brew. He presses a whiskery kiss to his pouty mouth.

“Good mornin’. How you doing?”

“Alright.” Connor stretches; shakes his limbs out. “I’ll need to go lie down again in a bit, but hey, at least Sumo’s here to keep me company.” And then he _winks_ , the cheeky fuck, and Hank can’t stop the flush in his face.

“You’re making me jealous of my own damn dog,” he grumbles.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it PG-13.” Connor slips out of his grip for a moment, to grab his mug, before his solid weight is pressing against Hank’s side once again. “Promise.”

“That doesn’t reassure me one bit,” Hank mutters. “How am I supposed to work knowing my boyfriend is getting wrecked the whole time?”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Connor replies, before taking a long sip of his coffee. He stares belligerently up at Hank from over the brim of his mug, and Hank can only sigh and shake his head.

And that’s that for a while. Connor doesn’t bring it up again, and Hank doesn’t prod him about it, because he doesn’t want to come across as a crotchety old fuck, and because… the idea really doesn’t bother him as much as it should. He could get Sumo spayed, if he really wanted to. If he were truly jealous, and not just half-hard every time he sees Connor playing with Sumo.

Kid’s not hurting anyone, really.

Hank has to remind himself of this when Connor brings up his _proposal_ one evening, eyes bright with distress.

“I think Sumo’s going into rut.”

Hank doesn’t look up from his tablet. “Uhuh.”

“It’s going to be so hard for him.”

Hank snickers. “Hard, huh?”

“Yeah.” Connor nods earnestly. Hank finally sets his tablet aside, just to see where Connor’s going with this. “I think we should help him through it?”

Hank’s eyebrow raises out of its own volition. “ _We_?” 

“Ah – _me_?” Sumo is out in the garden or somewhere, but Connor still spares a look behind him, as if the dog will be there desperately whining for his hole.

Hank strokes his chin contemplatively, just to tease him. “And you’re gonna what? Find him a female friend for the week?”

“No, I was thinking –”

“Give him handjobs under the table?” Hank interrupts, and he can’t help but smile when Connor flushes and sputters stupidly.

“ _No!_ I was – I was thinking he could knot me. Since he liked it last time…” He trails off to look at Hank, and all Hank can do is sigh. 

He’s not here to negotiate, but he can’t help but slip in one last comment. “Ri-ight. And you don’t think he’ll like a handjob?”

“Nope.” Connor grins. “How would you feel if you only got handjobs for the rest of your life?”

The gall of it all, really. He ought to smack him upside the head for that.

“Oi! Don’t you dare compare me to my dog!”

“You’re _both_ animals,” Connor snipes, and plants a big wet one on Hank’s cheek before he can complain. He skips away from the couch, leaving Hank to sit there feeling like he’d just accidentally given his blessings to something he hadn’t meant to. Oh well. At least he’ll enjoy the show, and the aftermath – like last time. 

He’s pretty sure Sumo isn’t even in rut yet, but he hurries after Connor just to be sure.

Sumo doesn’t start getting stupidly horny until two days later, and Hank has to admit that his animal brain is also getting a little worked up from the waiting. He won’t admit it out loud, of course. 

They bid a whining Sumo goodbye before work, and Hank spends the whole day at least somewhat distracted, thinking about what awaits them in the evening. Connor, on the other hand, maintains his usual brand of professionalism with absolutely no difficulty. Hank’s envious of him.

When they finally get back home, after more than enough waiting, Connor doesn’t even immediately strip down. 

He kneels to greet Sumo, and coos at him in his sweetest voice. “Sorry boy, we’re going to have dinner first, okay?” Sumo licks him.

Hank huffs. “Did you want leftovers again? Or should I order something?”

“Leftovers,” Connor nods, deliberate. “If we finish the leftovers, I’ll make brownies.”

Hank scrunches his nose up. They have some leftover stirfry and rice, and if he were ordering Chinese he’d probably get something similar, but – it’s _different_. Brownies, though, he’d be more than alright with. Even if Connor will limit him to one slice a day. “Edibles?”

“If you want.”

“Cool.”

He helps set the table (two forks, really), while Connor pops their food into the microwave, before settling on the couch with a heavy sigh. Sumo whines next to him, and he gives the big beast a head-scratch or three. Connor joins him after a moment, sitting first on the armrest then on Hank’s lap when he insists.

He fits nicely against the curve of Hank’s stomach, and he’s light enough to not be a nuisance. Hank wraps his arms around Connor’s waist and hums against his neck.

Connor pats his head. It’s kind of cute. “Tired?”

“Just a bit. Getting old, y’know.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Connor replies, and his tone makes Hank lift his head, to take in the stupid grin on his face.

“Brat.”

“ _Your_ brat,” Connor smiles, and Hank is _smitten._

The microwave beeps, and they have to peel themselves off the couch, Hank watching as Connor divides the rice between two plates. The stirfry smells good, despite himself. Connor’s a good cook, and Hank… helps out where he can.

He watches Connor eat, chin propped on one hand, until he asks why Hank’s staring. Because he looks good regardless of what he’s doing. Because his tongue sneaks out to lick sauce off his lower lips. What Hank says instead is:

“Just thinkin’ about what you’re gonna look like under Sumo later.”

The angry, embarrassed squawk he gets in response is worth the painful kick to his calf.

“We’re _eating_!” Connor half-whispers.

Like he has any right to be looking offended when he’s been doing all sorts of filthy things for as long as Hank’s known him. Hank chuckles.

“Yeah? I think Sumo’s looking pretty hungry over there too.”

Connor just flushes and primly eats another forkful of rice in silence. Hank gives him a fond look.

They finish eventually, and Hank takes over the dishes while Connor scurries off to the bathroom. He hears the shower run, and is hit with a Pavlovian visualisation of Connor fingering himself open. He nearly drops one of the dishes in the sink.

Connor takes his sweet time getting ready, but when he does finally emerge, Hank feels like he and Sumo are both equally panting in excitement. Well, Sumo doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but he will soon enough. 

Hank manages one smack to Connor’s bare ass before he’s crouching down by Sumo, hand reaching underneath that furry belly to grab at his sheath. His dick must pop out immediately, based on the way Connor gasps, and Hank sits there mesmerised as he follows the way Connor’s pale arm unmistakeably jerks up and down, hand still hidden by Sumo’s belly.

He must say something about handjobs, because Connor wrinkles his nose at him before standing back up. He wipes his damp hand on one thigh before using it to grab Sumo’s collar and tug the dog closer to the carpet.

“You’re not doing it on the couch,” Hank warns. As hot as it would be to have a front-row seat less than a foot away from the action, he dreads the clean-up.

“‘Course not,” Connor says. He gets onto his knees in front of the couch, and with the hand still fisted in Sumo’s collar, drags the great panting beast to nose at the crease of his ass. Sumo gives him a tentative lick, then a second.

“He’s a smart boy,” Connor reassures. “He figures it out immediately.”

“He’s a _horny_ boy,” Hank corrects, and Connor shrugs in agreement, shoulders shifting for a moment before Sumo shifts forwards to place his forelegs on them. 

It’s almost comical how quickly Connor collapses under the weight of them, and even Sumo looks surprised to be suddenly standing on all fours again. Hank chuckles out loud.

“Ow…” Connor mumbles.

“You know he weighs a ton.”

Despite how little he can actually see, it’s obvious enough when Connor reaches behind, to guide Sumo’s dick inside him. The dog huffs excitedly, and the wet sounds of his thrusts immediately start to fill the living room, unable to be drowned out by the stream of Connor’s moans against the carpet.

“Ngh – ah – it was… it was easier on the bed.”

Hank leans forwards from his seat on the couch, watching the scene closely. “Well. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Connor yelps, eyes screwed shut, as he slides further along the carpet. He’s almost definitely going to get carpet burn from that, but god knows Hank isn’t about to get between Connor and his rutting dog. 

Speaking of which, Hank has no idea what a rut looks like for dogs, and so it takes both of them by surprise when Sumo comes to a standstill a few minutes later, Connor groaning under him as he knots.

“That was fast,” Hank blurts. “You come yet?”

“N-No.” Connor shakes, nearly flat against the ground until Sumo shifts off of him, to settle half on his legs and facing the opposite direction. They are still tied together, and the movement makes Connor cry out.

“You need a hand?”

“Nnh.”

Hank takes it as a yes. Connor gazes beautifully up at him as he sits down on the carpet and runs a hand down his shivering, sweat-slick back. He struggles to lift his hips any, but Hank can make do, easing his hand under Connor to fist at his erect dick. 

“Fuck,” Connor whimpers at the first slick slide of flesh against flesh.

Despite everything else they’ve gotten up to, Hank still hasn’t forgotten how to give a mean handjob. He wrings an orgasm out of Connor in record time, though not as fast as it took Sumo to come, and ogles the way Connor’s ass clenches rhythmically around the knot inside him.

The splatter of come on the carpet will have to be a problem for future him. 

He wipes his hand on the curve of Connor’s rear and considers the scene for a moment before unzipping his pants. Sumo had barely stirred through that, and doesn’t look like he’s about to pull out anytime soon. 

Hank pats Connor’s cheek. “Hey.”

“Huh?” His dazed mumble is barely intelligible.

“Open your mouth.” 

Connor does so without hesitation, but the angle he’s at means Hank has to awkwardly scooch forward to tuck his dick in Connor’s mouth, getting about half of it in before hitting the back of his throat.

“Ngh.”

“Good boy.”

Connor's eyes flutter shut as he works his tongue around the dick in his mouth as best as he can, bobbing his head only the barest amount while Hank works the lower half of his dick. It’s not the best he’s gotten, but there’s something sweet about the way Connor moans around him while the rest of him lies there, weak and wrung out and pinned down.

He comes down Connor’s throat, and lets him lick his dick clean. There’s a trickle of cum at the corner of his mouth that he missed, and Hank swipes at it with a thumb and feeds it to him.

“Mm…”

“How’s Sumo?” Hank tucks himself back into his pants. He’s not going to get it up again anytime soon, and he might as well sit back and watch some TV while Connor and Sumo have at it.

“Still knotted…”

“Welp. I might go put something on – but I’ll still be here. On the couch,” he adds, seeing the look on Connor’s face. 

“Oh, okay,” Connor mumbles, looking a little sheepish. “Can you help me up when he pulls out?”

“Of course.”

He gets Connor a cushion too, because god knows how long Sumo is going to be sitting there. 

Not long, it turns out. Hank pops to the bathroom a while later, and when he returns, Sumo is going at it again. Underneath him, Connor clings to his cushion for dear life and wails when he sees Hank.

“He – he pulled out! I thought he was _done_!”

“He’s in rut, silly,” is all Hank has to say, and he can’t even bring himself to feel bad about the way Connor is being jerked all over the place. Not when he himself is feeling so horny that his dick might fall off at any moment. And he isn’t even hard yet.

Sighing, Hank sits back down. He’s put a movie on already – so he might as well _try_ to watch it.

He doesn’t recall a single detail from the movie, but he does know that Sumo knotted three times before finally pulling out. The dog is now curled up on the kitchen floor in a self-satisfied sort of way. Connor, on the other hand, came at least five times, shaking and spasming with overstimulation until Hank almost had to look away. Almost.

He gazes lovingly down at Connor now, taking in the way the omega is covered in a mess of fluids, hair mussed beyond recognition and eyes bleary with exhaustion. He clings weakly to Hank as he picks Connor off the floor, stepping around the large damp spot to carry him to the bathroom.

“You did good,” he says, because the kid craves praise. “Are you gonna do that every night for the rest of Sumo’s rut?”

Connor barely manages to form a reply before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to wiki, male dogs dont actually go into rut/heat but look this is fiction, we're writing about abo, literally anything can exist


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woke up this morning like Hm. ought to add a chapter to this supposedly complete oneshot  
> enjoy

The next time Connor goes into heat, it happens to line up with Hank’s cycle. At his age – despite how Connor insists that he’s still young – it’s fairly normal to have late ruts or miss them entirely. And frustrating though that might be, at least it’s a boon to Hank’s back. He doesn’t miss waking up from a hormone-numbed marathon to at least a dozen distinct and separate aches and pains, even if Connor always takes care of him afterwards.

That morning, Hank feels the familiar wave of heat rush over him just moments before Connor rushes up to him in the bathroom and asks Hank to sniff him.

“What?”

Connor stands on his tippy-toes to shove his neck into Hank’s face. “I think I’m in pre-heat. Am I’m in pre-heat?”

Rolling his eyes, Hank gives him a cursory sniff. “This is about the right time for it, yeah?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Cool.” He spits toothpaste into the sink. “I’m going into rut.”

It takes a second for Connor to respond. “Oh! Like right now?”

“In a couple days.” Hank grunts. He’ll let Connor do the maths himself. He bends and rinses his mouth out while Connor –

Connor tugs at his arm. “Wait – so we’re in sync?”

“Seems like it.”

Connor lights up. “Oh shit! This is going to be great –” His excitement quickly morphs into his familiar brand of rambling. “We’re gonna have to stock up, and oh – have you told Fowler? I’m gonna go put all the sheets in the wash. And –” He dashes out of the bathroom, leaving Hank to pat his face dry in the silence. 

He shakes his head. Connor doesn’t need a heat or a rut to be eager. At least the kid’s got a sensible head on top his shoulders. If Hank were thirty and about to rut, he’d hardly be thinking about anything besides his dick.

He pats Connor on the shoulder as he passes by, making a beeline to the coffee machine and toaster. Their sheets can wait. Connor doesn’t seem to think so, and Hank has to all but drag him out of the door.

“I need to nest,” Connor complains. “It’s part of my biology.”

“I flunked biology,” Hank grumbles, “and you know better than I do that you can work _just fine_ in pre-heat.”

Connor acquiesces, eventually. Only after Hank reminds him how sexy his trim hips are in his preferred slacks. Hank gives them one last grope and pats him on the bum before shooing Connor out the door. 

“C’mon. Bye, Sumo.”

Sumo boofs.

They are immediately directed to a nearby crime scene upon arriving at the precinct. It’s not the neatest one they’ve investigated, and Hank knows it can’t be easy on Connor’s sensitive nose to be assaulted by the layer and layers of pheromones seeping into every corner of the overgrown yard they’re investigating. He handles it professionally though, as always. 

He stands next to Hank, stiff-backed, and listens as the initial responder gives them another run-down of the scene, before letting them begin their investigation alongside the other officers present.

“How’re you doin’?” Hank mutters as soon as they get a moment alone.

Connor looks up from where he’s bent over and studying a mark on the fence. “I’m alright, Hank. Do you think this matches the missing weapon?”

Did Hank mention he was _professional_? At least he’s no longer referring to Hank by his title when it’s just the two of them. Hank had joked about it in the bedroom even, before panicking and expressly forbidding Connor from ever saying the ‘L-word’ at home. He really doesn’t want to get a hard-on at work.

And speaking of work – Hank knows Connor is just trying to remind him of the task at hand, even if his brain wants to focus on _other_ things. He crouches down next to his partner and puts on his detective hat. Securely.

By the time their week of leave rolls around, everything’s been bagged and tagged as much as possible, the witnesses they can track down have been interviewed, and the case is handed off to Reed and co. Reed sneers and wishes him a ‘nice time fuckin’, to which Hank responds with his most apathetic grunt. He will, and it’ll be none of Reed’s business.

Connor latches onto him as soon as they (professionally) file into Hank’s car, grinning like the little minx he is. 

“Are you in rut yet?” He’d be able to smell it if Hank were.

“No.”

“Damn.”

He asks Hank the same question when they get ready for bed. Connor smells like fruity body wash, and the way he’s nibbling at Hank’s neck doesn’t help him form a reply. 

“Nope. Try again tomorrow.”

Despite Hank’s rut not coming on until a day later and Connor’s cycle taking another day after that, the omega’s already piled all the bedding in their house into one luxuriously soft nest. Hank flops onto it with a groan and opens his arms to let Connor tuck himself against his side.

“The new mattress was a good call.” It feels like heaven underneath him, and that’s even without the nest and the hot boyfriend to take the bed to a whole new level.

Connor sounds smug, and Hank can imagine the smart little smile on his face. “I know right?”

“Uhuh. What did you say at the store – think about which one you’d want to have sex on the most?”

“Something like that.” 

They’d lain down on every display bed there, and it had taken a lot for Hank to stop thinking about the sex thing, even if the store had been massive and mostly empty. _Time and place, Anderson._

“You’re an absolute menace, Connor.”

Connor shifts onto his side and props his head up. “So? How’s the sex been, then?”

“Why are you asking me as if you weren’t there for all of it?” Hank snickers. “And _good_ , of course. You know that.”

“Good.” Connor drops back down, flings an arm over Hank’s chest; yawns. 

That’s a cue for Hank to go to sleep, too. He’s gotta get a full eight hours if he wants to be keeping up with his dick tomorrow. He tells Connor as much, and the omega chuckles quietly.

“Try not to let it run off without you.”

“I’ll try.”

As expected, Hank wakes the next morning with a familiar burn in his gut and a cloudy feeling in his head. Like he’s had a bit to drink, but also _not_. His senses are sharper, for one. Not as sharp as Connor’s omega faculties normally are, but enough that he can track where Connor’s been since sneaking out of the bed while Hank was asleep. 

He ambushes the man in the kitchen, nosing at his hair as Connor spits crumbs of toast onto the counter.

“Shit! Have your coffee first, come on. I just made some.”

Hank accepts the mug, though he doesn’t let go of Connor. He’s starting his rut, for Christ’s sake. Let a man live. And the cloudy feeling only grows stronger while he’s in close proximity to an omega. Hank is loath to let go. 

He lets Connor finish his breakfast, though, and gets about three-quarters through his coffee before setting it aside to hoist Connor into the air and carry him back to their bedroom.

“How’re you not in heat yet?” He grumbles. “Are you wet – Are you wet for me, omega?”

“Um –” Connor looks and sounds way too composed as he lies on the bed and dips a hand into his boxers, feeling around. “Sure?” He licks his finger, and it makes Hank growl.

“God, c’mere.”

The finger slips out of Connor’s smiling mouth with a pop.

His boxers slide off his hips easily, and Hank falls into a crouch, Connor’s legs on his shoulders, to _thoroughly_ investigate his hole. He’s not as wet as he could be, but that’s easy to rectify.

For all the pheromones are affecting him, Connor is still able to keep a clear head. Mostly. It’s always interesting to take on this role, to be the ‘calm’ one during sex while Hank growls and paws at him and lets his instincts take over. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not moaning at the ceiling or into the mattress for a majority of the time, but at least Connor _kind of_ knows what’s going on. Hank just gnaws at his neck and passes out the moment he knots. 

It’s also nice taking care of the man, Connor thinks, as he wobbles to the kitchen and fixes them a simple lunch of heated leftovers. Hank needs food and drink, even if he’s happy to show off his newfound stamina for the past… two hours. Connor’s impressed. His trembling glutes are too.

He jumps when something prods them through his boxers, and turns around to find Sumo’s big inquisitive eyes staring up at him. His tongue is lolling out.

“Oh hello Sumo. I’ll get you lunch soon, okay?”

He gets another nose to the ass for that, and if Connor weren’t balancing a plate in each hand, he’d crouch and give Sumo a good rub on the neck. He chuckles. Sumo’s needy, like Hank, but it’s obvious _who_ his priority should be this week.

Hank rouses as soon as he’s back in the bedroom, and sits upright with a groan as Connor peppers his neck and back with kisses.

“Hey…”

“Got us lunch.”

“Oh. Cheers.” His alpha stretches luxuriously before taking the plate, giving Connor ample opportunity to ogle the broad expanse of his chest, the curve of his padded belly, the wiry hair that covers Connor’s _favourite_ parts of his body. Oh, and his dick, of course. Connor doesn’t shy away from staring at the semi Hank’s sporting, even as he shovels pasta into his mouth.

“You sure know how to make a man feel appreciated,” Hank scoffs. 

Connor spares him a glance, smiling at the way Hank goes a bit red. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

Hank’s kiss tastes like pasta, but Connor really doesn’t mind it. His brain is short-circuited to beyond recovery, so it’s hard to care even if he could. Hank is clearly eager for another round, and it’s only the faint sound of Sumo’s boof that reminds Connor of his outstanding responsibilities. He pulls away, to a threatening-sounding rumble from Hank.

Or at least, it would be threatening, if he hadn’t known the man for nearly a decade now. Hank would never willingly hurt him. 

“I need to go feed Sumo. And I’ll put the plates in the sink.”

Hank grumbles. “Fine, fine. But you better get back here quick.”

“Yessir.” Connor hurries out the door, as fast as he can on his still-trembling legs. He’s going to lose the ability to walk by the end of today, and he hasn’t even started his heat.

Connor tells himself this all the time, more so since he turned thirty, but his body has thankfully yet to give. Hank, too. It’s something of a miracle that drags them out to the living room in the early evening to sit at the dining table like they’re not both a heartbeat away from jumping each other’s bones. 

Hank’s no longer hard, at least – Connor asks about it over dinner, to the expected sputtering reply. Connor himself is feeling a little twitchy and empty. Sitting on his ass doesn’t help matters, and he knows it’s the heat sneaking up on him, as much as it is the muscle memory of Hank’s knot. He tells his brain to shut up and concentrates on finishing off the food.

It’s pasta again, because they’d set aside the time just before Hank’s rut to make a big batch to last them half the week, then a casserole to last the other half. It’s sitting in the freezer, waiting for one of them to remember to defrost when they take a break from all the fucking. Hank likes to joke about the time one of his alpha friends got scurvy after eating nothing but takeaway foods during his rut, and even if Connor knows that scurvy takes more than a week to set in, the health-freak side of him was horrified. He told Hank as much. Hank had laughed. 

Still, the man has no problem with his routine of doing a big cook-up before every cycle. The pasta’s alright. It reminds Connor of his university days, when he would eat the same thing for weeks on end.

He sits back and lets Hank take care of the dishes, and considers the rest of the evening ahead of them. Probably another two rounds, after which Connor will have to tug Hank to the shower. He’ll go to sleep, and then he won’t properly wake up until Hank has fucked the heat out of him. Not the worst itinerary. 

Connor rests his head on one hand to ogle Hank from this sideways vantage point, and uses the other to pet Sumo. The dog gives him a lick.

“Good boy.”

“Hope you were saying that to me,” Hank chortles without turning around.

“Good _alpha._ ”

 _That_ makes Hank turn around. “You know you can’t talk like that when we’re not in the bedroom.” His face is red. It’s almost comical how easily Connor can elicit a reaction. “I’m _not_ fuckin’ you on the table.”

“Alpha…” Connor simpers in his best porn voice, and laughs when Hank faces the sink with a grumble, ears fire-truck red.

Hank gives in soon enough, carrying Connor back to the bedroom as Sumo follows them, whining at the bedroom door when it’s shut in his face. Connor doesn’t even have it in him to feel bad.

Of course, Sumo gets his turn soon enough. It’s Hank’s fault entirely. He gets up to piss in the night, leaving the bedroom door ajar, and returns to find Sumo with his nose under the covers doing god-knows-what _depraved_ things to his boyfriend. It takes a herculean effort on Hank’s part to not yell.

“Fuck!” He whispers, grabbing Sumo by the collar and wrenching him away from the bed. “Bad dog! Bad – you wait until when we’re awake, okay?”

He waves an unimpressed finger in his dog’s face and Sumo whines, claws scuffing against the carpet as he tries to assume his former bedside position. He’s so fuckin’ horny it would be laughable, if Hank weren’t desperate to kick his dog out and get back under the covers. He manages it eventually, but not without enough sweating and grunting that Connor is semi-lucid when Hank slides back into bed.

“H’nk…?” He mumbles against Hank’s shoulder. 

Hank presses a kiss to his temple. “Shh – go back to sleep, darlin’.” He closes his eyes as well – he’ll need all the sleep he can get, it seems, if he wants to be fending off his horny nuisance of a dog tomorrow.

It must be Connor’s pheromones, Hank decides. Even to his human nose, they’re rich and alluring. God knows what they smell like to Sumo, but the dog’s gotten his dick wet enough to know _exactly_ what that scent is associated with. Kind of like Hank.

He has to adjust his boner as he fixes the pair of them breakfast, as well as keep an eye on the way Sumo is pawing at the bedroom door.

“Bad dog!” He barks. It has no effect. It never has – he’s never had to discipline Sumo much, and the dog knows about as many commands as Hank can speak Japanese. Because of this, it’s a bit of a struggle to get back into the bedroom, and Hank has to quickly elbow the door shut before Sumo sneaks in and has his dastardly way with his boyfriend.

Connor just laughs when Hank complains about it.

“Then I’m glad you’re here to replace him, since he couldn’t make it.”

Hank gestures threateningly with his spoon. “You shut up and eat your cereal, Stern.”

Connor’s airy laugh fills the room like the sunbeams shining in through the window.

Sumo’s not really on the forefront of his mind after that, as Hank focuses on plugging Connor’s weeping hole with the kind of single-minded determination that led to his promotion. Connor is losing himself in his hormones, and the scent of his pheromones is rich enough to clog Hank’s nose and imprint on his tongue – he mouths at the omega’s neck as well, just because he can. With his heightened senses, it’s like Red Ice, or at least, what Hank imagines the drug to feel like. He’s never touched the stuff. Wouldn’t dare. 

Connor quivers beneath him, hole spasming and tightening as he comes once, then a second time. He passes out briefly, but Hank doesn’t stop, unable to relieve the burning ache in his gut any other way. 

They probably won’t need any toys this cycle, not if Hank’s rut manages to keep up. As soon as the thought pops into his head, Hank starts considering the drawer of toys beside the bed, and the additional box under it. He ought to – he ought to – 

The thought cycles in his distracted mind, unable to reach completion until Hank does the same, and it isn’t until he has come and knotted, sprawled heavily atop a barely-conscious Connor, that he realises. Connor would look real good with a gag right now. He always does, but Hank’s rut brain perks up at the idea, and he’s scrambling to search through the nearby drawer, uncaring of the way his knot tugs at Connor’s hole. 

“Fuck!” Connor cries, before moaning in assent when Hank shows him the ball-gag. He opens his mouth obediently, but Hank sticks his fingers to yank his jaw down anyway, setting the gag behind his teeth and tightening the strap so it sits just under his ears. Connor whimpers.

“Cute.”

Connor always tries to be obedient in the bedroom, and the gag never fails to activate something in him that leaves him quiet, docile, and utterly soothed as Hank manhandles him on the bed. He’s propped up on all fours, rear on display, and nearly sinks into the mattress at the first soothing touch down his spine. 

“Mm…”

Hank groans. “You’re so pretty, Con.”

He feels pretty. Hank is always good at making him feel pretty, even if he has scars and blemishes and knobbly knees. Another touch, down the crease of his ass, and his arms give out. Connor moans around his gag, the sound further muffled by the thick duvet under him. Despite this, it feels like the moan is reverberating in his head, every thought and sound and urge echoing in his brain until he has to scrunch his eyes shut against the sensory overload. It always feels like too much, like everything and insanity, and the only time he gets to feel peace is when there’s a knot stretching him open.

He squeezes weakly around Hank’s fingers, and moans happily when the man replaces them with his dick. His brain switches off after that. 

The next time he comes back on-line, Connor is still face-first against the mattress. It takes him a second to register anything else, before it all comes in a rush – his knees are still somehow holding his ass up in the air, and there’s a dick sliding in and out of his lax hole. He reflexively clenches up at the sensation, moaning around the ball jammed up against the roof of his mouth, and startles at the hot gust of air by his face and the loud ‘boof’ in his ear.

“S’mo?” Connor tries to mumble. How long has it been? It had been Hank fucking him last, he thinks, but he can’t be certain. He can’t even twist his neck to see if it’s Sumo above him, boneless as he is, but he spies a paw on the bed next to him and nods weakly at his own deductive skills. Sumo it is.

Hank confirms this a moment later, when he comes stomping back into the room, barking Sumo’s name.

“Bad dog!” Connor hears. “Bad dog – you get off the bed. Get off of him, c’mon.”

Sumo doesn’t budge. If anything, his thrusts speed up. Connor lies there and takes it, trembling. 

Hank swears. “Fuck.” He moves around the bed and crouches down until Connor can see him. He’s wearing a clean t-shirt and boxers, and his hair looks damp. “Sorry, I just went and had a quick shower. Was feeling real gross. Didn’t think Sumo would get in here.”

“Nngh,” Connor replies.

“Do you want that gag out?” Hank reaches out to touch the corner of his mouth, and Connor nods, head barely shifting an inch. 

With the awkward angle and Sumo hovering on top of him, it takes a bit of manoeuvring for Hank to reach behind Connor’s head and loosen the buckle, but the gag slips out soon enough, to rest at his sternum. The ball is wet with saliva.

Even with it free, Connor feels like he can barely form a single word. He mumbles again; blinks tiredly when Hank asks him to repeat it. 

“He’ll be done soon,” Hank reassures. “And then he’s staying in the yard for the rest of the day.”

That doesn’t feel very fair, Connor thinks but does not say. And he kind of misses his alpha’s knot, and especially his pheromones. Sumo just smells like dog. Because of this, he doesn’t complain when Hank finally tugs Sumo outside, a door banging faintly in the distance, over the ringing in his ears.

He turns around to greet his alpha when he returns, and lets himself be held.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are much appreciated and let me know that ppl enjoy this content! if u want to stay anon, u can kudos/comment from an incognito tab


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